On June the first, birthday of the first Lady of Gemini
I have to catch my breath running
as a wide receiver catches a football,
shaking off tacklers and heading
for the goal line, progress unimpeded,
or like an angler angling for trout,
turning over phrases languorously
when I feel a tug, catch a bite, that’s
what this jolt of morning joe, like “joltin’
Joe” DiMaggio, has done to me but if
I could calm down long enough to stop
hurrying and concentrate on the lawn
in front of me the wind at my back the laughter
from Alexander Pope’s dagger-like couplets
still echoing from last night’s reading
of The Dunciad – or maybe just to clear
the mind of words, all of them, even
the honeyed sonnets of youth not
lost, just misplaced – if I could look
at the trees darkening as a cloud covers
the sun, look at the grass, the myrtle, the pine
needles and the maple leaves and the one
rhododendron the deer have not devoured,
what then? After ten minutes of bliss,
I shall return to my mind, and she will be singing,
“After You Get What You Want, You Don’t Want It.”
(June 1, 2013)
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Author: The Best American Poetry
